Altaïr x Male Reader
by Witchie-Writes
Summary: You are a Novice assassin who only spends their time in the Brotherhood's library of Masyaf instead of training. Finally fed up with your noncompliance to go up the ranks of Assassin, Al Mualim asks Altaïr to mentor you. Little do you and Altaïr know what lengths your relationship will go to as you are trained. (A/N, this is set before Solomon's temple. Also, gay sexy time ahead.)
1. A Book And An Eagle

White robes and a hood rushed through the winding, grassy path leading up to his home. The assassin's guild of Masyaf, more like a castle, really. Recently, his mentor had sent a pigeon stating his urgency to have him back for a new mission. One of upmost importance. So, with a drop of sweat streaking down the master assassin's temple, he hurried on.

The doors to the massive castle slamed open. Another assassin, noticing the rushed man's presence, walked up to him.

"Altaïr, he is waiting for you upstairs." He said. The assassin, now known as Altaïr, gave no notice to his lesser brother. Not even slowing his pace as he ascended the rock stairs, soon reaching his destination to his most trusted and skilled mentor, Al Mualim. The elderly man stared out an immense window (more like the frame of one since there was no glass to go with it), his deep and wrinkled eyes heavy with the sight down below. Turning around, hands still clasped behind him, he found Altaïr, already on one knee, head down, an arm resting on his leg, the other at his side. He was simply, waiting. Waiting for his next mission.

"Rise, my child." said Al Mualim. Altaïr slowly stood.

"You're orders, sir?" he asked, head still bowed in respect.

"There is another one here who resides in this castle. I want you to go to them, they need guidance." The mentor replied. The younger man groaned.

"I thought this was important. But here you are, sending me out to help novices, of all people. Why can't someone else do it?" He snapped, arrogance seeping through his words.

"Because I command it of you Altaïr!" Al Mualim spat back. The assassin said nothing. The elder man sighed, walking over and placing a steady hand on his student's shoulder. "It is because I trust you with this task. Also, I fear no one else but you can make him listen."

"Fine, where can I find him?"

"He is likely where he always is, among the fellowship's books in the small tucked away corners. Find him, and continue his training." Altaïr nodded in response. As soon as his mentor turned his back, he left, setting out to his objective.

It didn't take long, to find the novice. Partly since the known library of assassins wasn't that big. But mostly because all Altaïr had to do was follow the murmured comments of other brothers who spoke things like,

"Why does he only read?"

"Shouldn't he be training?"

"At this rate, he'll never be a master assassin, or really anything above a novice."

"I heard he has escaped every trainer Al Mualim has sent on him."

They all seemed to flourish around a certain area. So, soon enough, after rounding another corner in the small maze Altaïr found you, the beginner he was sent to educate.

Looking at your clothing, there wasn't much to see. The standard white robes, leather belt, and bracer. But the most noticeable commodity was your hood. It rested lightly on your shoulders instead of on your head. Ultimately, revealing your face. And any assassin's face was something rare to see. Your eyes nimbly scanned the worn book in front of you. Your chapped lips slightly open, mouthing words every now and then. And your scarred hands, which the light seemed to hit perfectly, exposing your thick but quick fingers which danced across the pages and every so often reached up to brush a short strand of hair away from your face. Truely, a strangely peaceful sight to see.

However, that peace was soon disrupted when a shadow blocked out the sunlight that had been falling on your book. You sighed loudly, 'this again'. Looking up to see Altaïr your eyes twitched in mild suprise. You had tough trainers sent on you before but Al Mualim must be deadly serious now to send this one. A true master assassin whom practically everyone admired, but was known for his cold heartedness. Smiling shyly, you spoke, simply stating your name and a 'hello' as a friendly gesture. Altaïr only stared back with a stony face.

Still smiling, you turned back to your large book as the older man took a place in the seat across from you. It was a small wooden chair, coupling yours, but came along with the minature wooden table you read your text upon. You, yourself, were quite petite for a man, so it all seemed to fit together perfectly.

"Why do you read?" Altaïr asked, slowly. You raised your head up towards him.

"Why not?" you countered in a content voice. "There is lots of knowledge and good stories to be found in books. Haven't you read before? Or do you not know how?" You asked with a boasting smile. Altaïr looked away.

"Of course I know how, novice." He barked, eyes forward, then slowly sneaking another look at the tome in your hands. "Just not very well..." he added. You laughed at that. This was sweetly suprising. A nice, casual conversation between two brothers. It almost seemed like rank didn't matter for a second.

"Well, I haven't had the time to practice my reading because I was practicing my skills! Speaking of which, we are supposed to do exactly that. Get up, novice. And put your hood back on!" Altaïr said hotly, then left. And that's where the sweetness stopped. You groaned inwardly. But complied by closing your book, briskly throwing on your hood, and following your new tutor outside. It was only as you were walking to the training grounds that you noticed how big this man was, towering at 6 feet. Already, you were a good 5 inches shorter than him, but the way he walked with such confidence made him seem even taller. Not to be outdone by Altaïr, you mimicked his movements, straightening your back and puffing up your chest. Already, however, you were beginning to dislike your new mentor. It could only get worse from here.

* * *

"Keep your eyes on your opponent as you attack them!" Altaïr yelled towards you as he swung the back of his blade towards your armed hand. Instinctively, you grabbed the hilt of your sword with both hands, swiftly turning it against his attack and successfully pushing it away. Taking this chance, you swung for his side but was blocked immediately by Altaïr's broadsword. You panted heavily as you both pushed the blades against eachother with equal force, the cold metal screeching as they scraped against eachother, battling for dominace. Altaïr had hardly broken a sweat.

"Good." He said smoothly. Suddenly, an outburst of strength overcame your falchion, steering it away from your mentor's intended path. "But you'll have to be faster than that!" He grinned, swinging at you again with full force. You grinded your teeth, knowing you wouldn't be able to block this swing. Instead, you dodged to the side, another swing, another dodge. Altaïr eventually continuously kept thrusting towards your face and torso. You avoided every attempted stab with relative ease.

"What's wrong, novice? Scared to actually fight?" He taunted. It was meant to set you off, however, it only made his current attack slower. It was the opening you had been waiting for. Rolling to the ground, away from his front, you then quickly rose up to his side, an attack seamlessly following you about to strike his left. But in that limited moment, when you almost had bested him, Altaïr blocked in the nick of time. Again the sound of metal ripped through the air as you were determined to stand your ground this time. Your body and Altaïr's almost touched if not for the barrier of blades. He scoffed, dropping his smirk to instead grit his teeth, not unlike you.

"You nearly got me that time. Still, you'll have to do better against a real opponent." He grunted, finally starting to show the wear across his face. This second pushing battle seemed to be more unconclusive, as both of you were using every ounce of strength in your bodies to subjugate the other. Suddenly, Altaïr's honey-colored eyes glanced down at your feet, if only for a second. Your eyes widened, realizing what he was doing a half second after it had already begun. The older man's leg sweeped under yours, pulling your body out from under itself. Your back made impact with the ground, knocking the wind out of you, your sword resting beside you. Altaïr pointed the tip of his blade at your face, which was now, once again, uncovered.

"Give up." He ordered. The raw power practically glowing off of him. However, those two words only sparked your anger as you tightly grabbed the hilt of your falchion.

"Never!" You spat. In a quick move, you pushed Altaïr's blade away with as much controlled force as you could muster. The broadsword knocked out of his hand, clattering to the ground, which gave you time to roll away and stand up not so gracefully. You would attack Altaïr as he stood there; swordless and seemingly baffled, but you needed to catch your breath.

"Oo, he's not gonna like that." You heard a voice murmur from behind. You almost forgot you were simply training and there was a small crowd watching. Finally coming back to reality, a slow, but painful, stinging bloomed on your face. Still panting, you reached up to your left cheek. Feeling something warm, you turned your eyes to your fingers. A small trickle of bright red blood ran down your calused thumb. You figured, Altaïr's sword must have cut your face during that last little skirmish. Also, it must have been near your eye since now half of your vision was completely red. At this point it was only another injury to add along with the other cuts and bruises. Also caused by Altaïr in only a half-hour into this nonsense.

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST SUBMIT!?" The shouting turned your attention back to Altaïr, who was now rushing at you, full speed, sword in hand. There was barely enough time to block his attack. Your opponent's eyes burned bright with a murderous fire. Altaïr's expression was more than disgruntled or unpleased. It was downright deadly. After realizing his attack did not meet the requirements he launched another one. And another, and another, as you continued to meagerly block them, pressing your open palm to the fuller of your blade for extra support. You wanted to cry, to give up, Altaïr was attempting to attack you in every place imaginable. A right, a left, by your feet, by your shoulder. He never stopped to push at your blade. Every attempt was met with another at lightning speeds, spining and turning and twisting. He was like a dancer. However, every abuse on your falchion was transfered abuse to your arms which weakened them considerably with every strike. Again, you wanted to cry, but for some unknown reason your face didn't let you. It kept an eerily calm disposition with the occasional lower lip bitting. Even as you finally were unable to hold your sword as your fingers and arms were numb with pain. Even as Altaïr kicked you to the dirt, panting madly like a dog. Even as he once again pointed his sword at you, silently telling you to give up. Even then as you wanted to beg him, 'Yes! Yes I give up!' you didn't, and your face remained ever peaceful and content. It was that exact expression that drove Altaïr mad with rage. His arrogance for worship, for power, plauged his mind to the roots.

A plated boot came crashing into your unguarded stomach. You doubled over to the dirt coughing up a small sized puddle of dark blood. You rested your forhead against the dirt. It was blissfully cool even in this summer weather. Suddenly, the thought of dying took over your mind. For some odd reason, this felt like the end. Using the last bit of muscle to roll onto your back you looked up at Altaïr, his head blocking out the sun. From this angle, he almost looked like an angel with the rays of light beaming from his hood. However, the thought of your mentor, this painfully stoic man, as a being of God, forced an almost hysterical laughter out your throat. Hell, you were gonna die, might as well laugh. As you laughed, you realized it was the only sound emiting from the area. The watching crowd was hushed and tense watching the scene play out, assassins and citizens alike. Not one daring to cross the master assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. Still chuckling, you stared at your tutor's face, half of it blurry from your bloody eye. You smiled at him, not feeling even a morsel of anger towards him. He spat to the side getting ready to kick you again, not taking this happy response as a surrender.

"ALTAÏR." A voice yelled. You couldn't see who it was, or more or less move your head to see the saviour. But you did see Altaïr set down his foot and walk away. A small grunt made you figure he had left the ring. But more huffs close to you made you conclude someone was coming for you. You stared up. It was a cloudless day, such a pretty light blue the sky was. Perfect for dying under, you remembered. A man knelt next to you, another assassin, it seemed. One of lower rank.

"Can you walk?" He asked, in a sweet, high voice.

"N-No." You barely whispered out. The other man nodded, carefully starting to lift your arm around his shoulder. He grunted, struggling to stand up your structureless weight. Your head was now about the extention of things you could move. The assassin pointed at a novice whom had been watching the whole time.

"You. Help me get him over the fence and to the doctor." She nodded, struggling to lift you over without hurting you more than Altaïr already had. Soon the three of you started your course to the guild. Painfully slow and steady. The man on your left spoke.

"I am Kadar. And that, over there-" He gestured with his head over to a clearing where Altaïr and another assassin, who had short black hair and a small stubble outlining his jaw, were arguing. Although it was mostly the black haired assassin gesturing wildly and occasionally hitting the other on his head. "That is my older brother, Malik." Kadar chuckled.

"He is another master assassin. I was watching you fight Altaïr from afar, you fight well for a younger rank. But especially against Altaïr, holding up as you did. Very good. But as soon as I saw him kick you down I knew it was serious. I ran to get Malik since he is the only one, besides Al Mualim, who can tame him."

"Thank you, my friend." You spoke softly. "I admit, I was prepared to die near the end there."

"I thought laughing like that was very courageous." The woman to your right spoke next. "When you smiled at him like that, even thought you were on the ground and bleeding badly, I could see how truely happy you were. I don't think Altaïr really understood that wasn't a taunt. Altaïr doesn't have the luxury of making friends and learning about friendly habits." You looked at her, grinning fondly.

"What is your name?" You asked, curious. She shook her head.

"Where are my manners, I am Nada." She stated. You pondered at her name.

"Your name is fitting. Nada means generosity, yes? You are generous to help carry me up here." You complimented. Your new female friend blushed.

"We are here." Kadar declared. The last few steps to a doctoring bed were not too complicated. Slowly, you were lowered into a sitting position on the bed. A doctor suddenly walked into the room getting straight to work on your injuries. He was obviously used to this kind of thing.

"Strip. I need a better look at your afflictions." The doctor said cooly.

"We should probably go.." Kadar commented. Nada nodded in agreement turning to leave rather quickly.

After saying your goodbyes you slowly peeled off your blood soaked tunic and shirt. Wincing every step of the mile. The doctor tsked, looking at your various scrapes and small cuts but most noticably at the bruises forming on your wrists and the thunderstorm like bruise on the right side of your torso.

"How in the world did you even get these?" He asked.

"Training." You shruged. The medic raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure it was just training or not someone else." You decided not to answer. He sighed. "I can heal these smaller injuries just fine but this one will take time." He pointed at your massive purple and blue cloud.

"I heal fast." You stated. The doctor nodded, starting on your cuts.

"I am sure. But I am confining you at least one days rest before you try anything. If there is anything else you need, I am only an earshot away." He said, finishing things up around your eye and other various areas.

"Thank you, doctor."

"No problem. Oh, also rinse that eye out when you get the chance." And with that he left. You groaned, falling back on the matress, immediately regretting it from your new bruise yelling at you.

This was going to be a long and excruciating day.


	2. When A Man Is Mysterious

You groaned loudly. It was really for anyone to hear so you could chat with them. Hell, you would even take Halim, the doctor who first helped you, for company if it meant talking to someone. However he would probably just say you needed rest, as he brought your meals, then leave. It turns out that one day you were supposed to be restricted to, turned into several.

Occasionally, Nada would come visit. She didn't come often, but she was the only one who came more than once. You seemed to have befriended her. It was a first, for sure. Mainly since there weren't many women part of the creed to be friends with but secondly because, as mentioned before, no one (besides Nada) came back after one visit.

The fight with Altaïr somehow made you popular and a courageous hero amongst the ladies. (Much to Altaïr's unknown disappointment.) A lot of the first day of staying bed bound was spent by being fawned over by young women you had no interest in. Nada, came back. So you spent the extra time she provided to get to know her. She also shared your love of books and knowledge. Often wishing she could live in the stories the words depicted. You also found out that the Templars had killed her mother and baby sister. Her father was able to fight them off and run away with Nada to Masyaf. So, she was sent off by her father to avenge her family after training with the assassins.

Nada was a pretty woman. Almost everything about her face was sharp. Sharp jawline, sharp nose, sharp eyebrows. Everything but her eyes. Her eyes were a round, drooping shape, filled with chocolate-colored irises. Nada had dark skin that was well tanned by the Syrian sun. It went well with her slightly wavy, jet black hair. All in all, she was pretty. It was something you could mutually appreciate about her.

Today, Nada didn't come. You knew she wouldn't be here, her last visit informed you she would be on a long mission, with little to no breaks. So today you were alone, occasionally getting up for water or trying to ignore the pain from your bruise while you paced. Attempting to acclimate with the pain didn't work, however. Really the only thing you could accomplish was to lie on your bed, praying that Nada would come bursting in, saying something like her mission had been canceled and she could talk with you. But it never happened. So once again, you waited. You couldn't even go to sleep at this point. There was way too much energy in your body to spend. Normally, you'd ask someone to get a few books from the library for you, but the only person who visited now was Halim, checking up on you, and he was always busy with other patients to step away for a few seconds.

Suddenly, someone rapped on the wooden door to your room twice. You froze, was is Nada? Halim? Couldn't be, could it? Two knocks hit the door, again. Realizing you were keeping the mystery person waiting you spoke,

"C-Come in!" The door opened. The body standing there was the last person you expected, Altaïr.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" He asked, walking into the room, leaving the door open. You sat up slowly, releasing a tense groan. Propping yourself against a pillow, you looked up at Altaïr, his face was noticeably pained seeing you struggle as you did.

"No, I've been dying for company all day." You said. He nodded, scanning the room for a chair. Spotting one, he effortlessly lifted it over to your bed, and sat down. Both of you stared, silently. Neither of you wanted to be the ice breaker, knowing where a conversation would inevitably lead. But something caught Altaïr's eye that made him discernably grim.

"Did I... do that?" He half whispered, pointing at your slightly revealed bruise. Looking down you were suddenly aware your loose shirt had cuddled up your stomach showing off your injury. You pulled the fabric down, sealing it from sight.

"It's nothing." You mumbled, looking anywhere but Altaïr's face.

"I am sorry." The older man blurted. He quickly stood up, rushing out the room before you could respond. He was in such a hurry he didn't bother to close the door. As it so happened, that little detail was to your advantage. Just outside the room, in the hallway, you could hear raised voices. Listening closely, they were just made out into words.

"I tried my best!" Altaïr's voice spoke.

" _That_ was your best? That was pitiful, go back in there and apologize properly." Said another male voice, whom was obviously annoyed.

"I already apologized to him, it would look stupid to go back and apologize again."

"This is not about how you look, Altaïr. It's about how he looks, right now!" There was an icey silence between the two men. After a few seconds, one voice sighed.

"I'm sorry, Altaïr. I know you mean well. Just go back in and apologize then actually wait for his response."

Seconds later Altaïr walked in, not to your suprise. He paced across the small space of the room, rubbing his jaw and mouth before speaking.

"Let me try that again, I _am_ sorry, I just-" He paused, thinking over his words. "When you did not so easily give up, something took over me. I would normally never hurt a novice the way I hurt you. Not unless they were a traitor. Looking back, I have no idea what I was doing. I know better then to kick a man while he is down." You stared at the nervous Altaïr. You were sure he had the notion you couldn't forgive him, but in this moment he looked so earnest, so... real. Not at all his usual stony self. Wanting to continue observing his anxious face, you held your tounge, letting him finish. The older man clasped his hands together, tightly.

"What I'm trying to say is I regret what I did. Also, I'm asking if you can forgive me. I understand if you can't." Altaïr shuffled his feet. It was obvious he wanted to get out of there. To jump out the window or run through the open door. But he didn't. He only stood in painful anticipation. You rolled your eyes, it was no hard decision for you.

"Of course I forgive you. I'm not really one to hold grudges. When I was laughing, it wasn't at you, I was just simply, happy." Altaïr let out a breath he had been holding. His face slowly leaking out any tension.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The second voice from earlier suddenly stepped into the room. It was no other than the black haired assassin, Malik. He walked over to Altaïr, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry it took a few days for him to apologize. I would have made him come sooner but only recently, I found out he did not make a pardon earlier. Sometimes, Altaïr is a coward like that." He grinned, mainly to himself. The assassin in question shot a dirty look at Malik. Malik, on the other hand, only returned it with a smirk and a small 'feh'.

"Have we met before by any chance?" The black haired assassin asked, turning his attention towards you.

"Not in person, I believe." You responded. "Kadar is the one who told me about you. Thank you, by the way, I fear I would have died back there if not for you."

"Not a problem. Since we were kids I've been stopping Alti from doing stupid things." He remarked. You mused at the nickname.

"I can imagine."

"I'm right here, in this very room, you know." Altaïr cut in, irritation playing across his face. Malik laughed, lightly patting his friend's shoulder.

"Well, I have buisness to attend to. I'll let you two talk in peace." And with that, the black haired assassin left, still smiling. Altaïr resumed his position on the wood chair.

"I like your scar." He said awkwardly. You had to bite your cheek from laughing. Nada was right when she said Altaïr didn't have the luxury of studying friendly behaviors.

"Yeah, it kinda shredded my eyebrow, though. It's bit like your scar, isn't it?." You remarked, unconsciously reaching up to rub the scab under your eye. Altaïr shrugged, feeling his own scar perpendicular to his lips.

"I'm sure all assassins have a scar that's a bit like mine." Was his response. You said nothing. He sighed, concluding this conversation to be over. Altaïr stood, heading for the door.

"I will be back another time. When you are healed enough, we will continue training." Soon, it was just you in the room. Alone, once again.

You sat, thinking about Altaïr and what Nada said when she first met you. It seemed to you, Malik was Altaïr's only friend. Surely he didn't think of you as a companion. You were nothing more than a student in the eyes of this great master. Even after what he did to you, you felt pity, and a lingering sensation that you treated him with undeserved disrespect from the very beginning. He wasn't what you assumed at all, Altaïr's stuttering apology proved that much. You would continue your training with him, if only to figure out who he really was behind that mysterious, hooded face.

* * *

The next day had you feeling right as rain. You could finally walk around as you pleased with little pain. Reluctantly, the doctor let you free after a warning to take it easy. Promising him you would, you pulled on a clean white shirt, pants, tunic, and hood. Walking to your room (hood down, of course), you found your limited equipment, recently scrubbed and polished. Your falchion sharpened and smoothed. The leather belt and bracer preserved with tree oils. You held them briefly, feeling their weight, before sliding the hidden blade and gauntlet over your arms. You tied a red sash around your waist, then worked up your belt up your legs, letting it rest atop your hips. Lastly you gracefully tucked your sword into its sheath.

Finally walking around outside was like heaven. As always, the sun was shining undisturbed by any clouds. You let the rays of light fall on your hair warming it up along with your face and shoulders. Going outside and smelling the nature was a thousand times better then being stuck with the musty smell of an ancient castle combined with the smells of blood and sickness from the infirmary. You were finally free. Ignoring the training ring for now, you paced down into the village fully intending to buy something delicious but unhealthy.

The market was bustling today, it must have been some all-around good bargain. Stalking through the assorted vendors, you found a quaint peddler selling syrian street food. The small old woman sat happily waiting for customers. You walked over eyeing two specific items.

"How much for these, ma'am" You asked, pointing at a slice of flat bread and a triangular peice of baklava. She smiled looking down at the two foods.

"Oh, it's always free for my first customer of the day." She replied, slowly. You gaped, putting away your wallet. The old lady reached behind the table for a small wood bowl of hummus. "Take this, too." You bowed, humbly, collecting your food.

"Thank you so much, ma'am. May safety and peace be upon you." The old woman's smile, widened.

"As to you. Take care now young man." You nodded, and left as she waved at your back. This day was going astoundingly well.

Finding a clear, grassy spot near the Masyaf gate, you plopped down. Setting your hummus down, you began on your flat bread. After dipping it into the soft condiment, you bit into the bread, chewing it slowly. It was delicious and cool. Besides your tasty snack, a pleasant breeze caressed your face, the smell of flowers and spices lingered gently in the air. This truely was Syria in summer

You watched silently at the townspeople shuffling in and out of the open stone archway a good 50 feet from you. This was the Masyaf Gate. It was the only way through to the town that was accessible to citizens. In this way, Masyaf was impenetrable, being located in the little crook of a mountain valley it was either go through the gate or die scaling the cliffs. Perfect for a large army fighting a war over liberty. As you thought about this you finished your flat bread, now starting on your baklava, which was already crumbling in your hand. Ah, baklava. A Syrian pastry consisting of ground pistachios for a base which numerous layers of thinned dough sat ontop. To finish it all off, the flakes were practically drowned in honey and natural syrup. A messy sweet, but nonetheless packed with flavor. Before you could get even a single bite in, an angry voice interrupted your nearly perfect afternoon.

"What are you doing!?" You looked up. Oh, joy, it was Altaïr, who was pacing towards you at a rather alarming rate. You lowered your triangular treat.

"Eating?" You responded sarcastically. He stopped in front of you, pursing his lips.

"You're supposed to be at the guild untill you get better, novice." He reminded.

"I _am_ better!" You protested.

"Then why aren't you training?"

"Well, no thanks to you, a lot's happened to me. I just wanted some time to relax and eat something that wasn't as paltry as the meals the doctor brings." You sighed. Altaïr, on the other hand, pinched his nose while gritting his teeth. To him you were insufferable.

"This is exactly why Al Mualim sent me to you. What are you even eating, baklava? That's not healthy at all!"

"I know, you want some? I didn't bite into it yet. Plus there is plenty for both of us." You offered. Altaïr stared at you, completely still, for almost a full minute. He had no idea how to respond to this simple, yet left-field, question. Soon, he started to wonder if that was a bad thing.

"If you don't want any, that's fine, I was gonna eat all of it before, anyways." You stated, snapping Altaïr out of his trance. Lowering his head he sat next you. Taking a deep breath he held out his hand.

"Fine, give it here." He said softly. Almost haltingly, you placed the pastry in his open palm. Sneaking a glance at your expression, he broke the baklava in two with a bit of applied force. Handing you a half, he began munching on his own piece. Smirking at your triumph, you bit into your well-deserved treat. Just as you expected, the familiar taste of nuts, masked with sugar filled your tastebuds. You couldn't help but smile and lean back on your open hand. When you sighed contently after taking another bite, you also couldn't help that. Altaïr stared at your actions, as if he was a naive baby bird.

"Why are you so happy by just eating? It's only food." He asked. You grinned at him.

"You have obviously never read a book for fun, have you?" Altaïr lifted an eyebrow.

"I don't understand what do books have to do with food?" You sat up straight, facing Altaïr properly.

"Reading a book for fun is a lot like eating food. If you just read the book, you understand the story and how the characters fit in, but you don't get anything out of the clever writing or you don't laugh at the jokes. You have to savor it, like food." You explained, taking another bite. Altaïr shook his head.

"You are a strange man." He remarked. You shrugged.

"A lot of people say that. By now I'm _very_ accustomed to it." Altaïr stood up, extending his hand for you.

"Come on, we have training to do." You smiled, wraping your hand around his wrist, letting him help you up.

"It's just always buisness with you, isn't it?" You teased, following behind your mentor as he headed towards the brotherhood. Altaïr said nothing for a time. After reaching the bottom of the stairway to the castle he suddenly stopped, making you nearly crash into his back.

"I may be strict but I did enjoy that small moment under the tree." He said before starting up the stairs. "Let's go, novice, we have to get you practiced in throwing knives before the day is over."

You followed Altaïr's back cautiously. Again, another complete mystery from this man. Who was he really hiding under all that talk and shaming of others. Surely not something worse, right?


	3. That Returning Feeling

"You're much better than any novice I know."

"Yeah, I got a natural talent for this thing, Altaïr."

"Don't boast. Ready to go again?"

"Ow! That hurts! Ugh, yeah, I'm ready to go."

"Go collect your throwing knives then." Altaïr ordered, pointing at the circular wood target standing ten feet away. You rubbed the back of your head where Altaïr hit you. Frowning, you shot the older man a look, but complied anyways and retrieved your knives. Setting them back on the table, you sighed. Training was grueling, to say in the least, with this man. He gave you practically no slack at all because, to him, there was always something you could do better. Carefully picking up a blade, you widened your stance, your armed hand raised, ready to strike. Altaïr stood silently, arms crossed, behind you. Taking a deep breath, you began moving. Right leg picking up off the ground as your right hand moved back, paused, then threw itself forward towards the target. Right as your arm was almost level to the ground, you let go of your knife. It spun through the air as it approached the colored rings of the target, finally sticking the blade right to the wood, halting its movement. You grinned, inspecting your work. Bull's eye, exactly in the center. Altaïr gave a silent nod of approvment.

"Good. Again." He commanded. You cringed, still no slack at all. Picking up another knife your prepared yourself to throw it.

"I've been wondering for some time now, how do you already know these skills? It's obvious from how your doing right now and your fighting from that day in the training field you do not have the skill set of a novice. And yet, here I am, training you under Al Mualim's orders." Still focused, you flung the small knife, the sharp point finding it's mark once again.

"Although I am ranked slightly above a novice, I have done more training than you think." You explained, taking another knife.

"Not long ago, I was on my way to be like you. A master assassin. But.. for some reason, I started feeling great resentment and fear of going to my lessons." You chucked the blade, another dead center hit. You took another,

"The fear came out of nowhere. Soon, I started avoiding my trainers, to go read our books and scrolls instead. To study and learn all I can." Another throw, another direct hit.

"Slowly, my mentors became stricter and stricter, then my rank started demoting. I was soon almost a novice again, after that... I would have been thrown out." Hurling the last blade, it hit the target by its handle, causing the knife to bounce away into the dirt below. You stood up, straightening your posture. Altaïr remained silent, simply weighing your words.

"Why were you afraid? I can understand hatred at having to preform hard work, but not fear." Altaïr said. You placed a hand on your chin, thinking it over.

"I suppose, I was afraid I would never be good enough, that I would never get better. I was afraid that I might mess up enough to give reason to exile me. I have no home besides the brotherhood, you see?"

"And now? Are you still fearful?"

"I still have many fears, like all humans. But I do not fear not being good enough anymore. I did not read all of those texts in vain. I learned many things I did not know before. Looking back, it seems childish of me to have been afraid." Altaïr hummed, looking towards the sun which was now setting over the mountains. The sky filled with gold and pink hues, creating a warm glow on all the surroundings.

"Get some rest, we will continue tommorow." He said softly, then left you alone. You watched his back as he strided away. Such a confusing person, he was. Smiling to yourself, you collected your blades, placing them carefully back into their place on your belt. Releasing a yawn, you traveled back to your quarters, undoing any equiptment from your clothes, then promptly crashing onto the soft bed and pillows, finally turning in for the night.

* * *

Altaïr lay, back face-down, in his bed. A nagging feeling tugging on his thoughts kept him up. Something about the way you talked only a few hours earlier rubbed him in the wrong way. No matter what he tried to do he could not fall asleep.

Sighing, he sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face and eyelids. Maybe a walk outside would calm down his nerves. Quickly attaching the rest of his equipment (he rarely went anywhere outside his room without them), he made his way out the door to the main building of the guild. Looking around, he took a minute to adjust to the dark room, aside from the stream of moonlight sliping through the windows, casting a blue, dream-like hue. Then, in the corner of his eye, was a faint glow from a candle. Curious, as to who could be up at this hour, Altaïr silently approached the yellow light. What he found was you, a tired expression on your face as you struggled to keep your eyes open, and as always, submerged into piles of books, an open one between your trembling hands. He walked towards you, shuffling his feet so his presence would be made known. Cautiously, he took the seat next to you. You said nothing, not so much as acknowledging Altaïr with a simple glance.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, novice?" The older man whispered.

"I do not wish to sleep right now." You whispered back, then added a reminder to your real name as to try and stop your mentor from calling you novice again.

"It is late and you have hard work to do tommorow. As your superior, I am demanding that you go get rest. You look exhausted as you do, already." Altaïr stated. You remained silent, choosing to focus on your book instead. Irritated now, the older man placed a hand on your shoulder, forcefully attempting to get you to look at him.

"Are you even listening to me right now? You need to go to sleep. All assassin's need rest if they are to carry out their jobs successfully. Listen to me, novice!" You, however, were frozen to the spot. Fear and anger boiling inside you as you tried to retract from Altaïr's touch. Your hands clenched tightly, nails digging so deep into your palms they started to bleed. Finally, choosing to speak, you looked at Altaïr, an expression of pure rage writhing through your features.

"Get your hand off of me. Right now." You said slowly, malice seeping through your words. The older man quickly did so, simply watching as you stood up, preparing to leave.

"Touch me again like that, and I'll kill you." You added as a last remark before heading towards your room, leaving Altaïr alone.

Finding your open bed you sighed, you really hated it when you got like that, and again, you ended up treating Altaïr badly when he didn't deserve it. If only you could explain to him why you did not want to sleep. If only you could tell him about the dreams. But you knew it would never be that simple, nor did you think your mentor would care to listen, much less understand.

Clutching a pillow for comfort, you closed your eyes, wary of what might be waiting for you in the morning.

* * *

A slow, creeping sunlight was what woke you up. As you lay, arms and legs thrown across the bed, a stream of light shown on your face, forcing you to open your eyes. You rolled over to your back, staring at the stone celing before forcing yourself up, a small groan escaping your lips. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you noticed your hands were unusually rough. Looking down you found that your hands were wrapped in strips white fabric, little splotches of brown dried blood staining the cloth. You don't remember when you bandaged your hands. Shrugging, you passed it off as something you probably did later in the night after waking up again. Slowly walking over to you dresser you picked out a fresh pair of clothes, discarding your old ones onto the floor. You glanced at your now fading bruise before slipping a white shirt and tunic on. Re-equipting yourself with your belt, hidden blade, sword, and throwing knives, you were ready to leave and train with Altaïr, who was, right now, the person you feared most.

That day, as expected, was work-filled and exhuasting. It didn't seem as though Altaïr was angry about the incident last night, but you couldn't be sure. It was Altaïr, after all. Practically no one could read what he was feeling.

When you ate dinner that night with the other assassin's currently in Masyaf, you took slow, methodical bites. Partly out of fatigue, partly because your thoughts were focused on today's lesson. Your mind simply shifting through different ways to blend and sneak up behind someone. To conceal your breath and be aware of every movement your body makes.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" A voice snapped you out of your trance. Sitting across from you at your table was the one and only Nada, smiling brightly at you.

"Y-Yes, hello, it is good to see you again. How was your mission?" You stammered while smiling back.

"Truth be told, it was rather easy. I think I am improving more quickly than I imagined." She replied. You laughed at that.

"I don't know what people tell you, but you are very talented, Nada. Don't ever doubt yourself."

"Thank you, I promise I won't." Then, she lowered her voice, as if scared. "And how is it going with.. Altaïr?" You dropped your head.

"Not so well, I fear. I was mean to him when I shouldn't have been. He was only trying to help me but I... I just feel really bad about it." You spoke. Nada stared at you sympathetically.

"I see. I hope you will be ok. If you ever need to talk.." She offered.

"Thank you, but no thank you. Even though I trust you with many things, I still have secrets of my own."

"I understand. You need space and time. I can only offer you hope that things will resolve ok." You smiled softly, finishing the last few bites of your meal before standing up to go.

"Thank you Nada. I'm sorry this was so short but I must go now. Safety and peace to you." You quickly retreated to your room, not stopping for anything. All you wanted right now was to go to sleep and try to get any rest you could before another hard day of training. Because train hard you would.

A week passed of only instruction from Altaïr. Every day was wake up, eat, be agonizingly coached, eat, the get little sleep from the dreams. Every day, after eating dinner, in the quiet hours before you went to bed, a familiar feeling returned to you. It was the feeling of fear and hatred you had for you past mentors. You promised yourself that Altaïr was not like these men. He was different, a mystery. But time was slowly proving he was not. That he was just as hard-hearted as your other mentors. Every morning, when the sun rose, your mind told you a little louder to not go to him, to run away just like before. You knew soon enough you wouldn't be able to ignore that little voice. It was true, in a way, Altaïr scared you. The bruise across your torso only reinforced that idea. However, one night, something happened that changed your view on him forever.

* * *

You groaned, lowering yourself into the giant bath. The heat of the water was making quick work at your scrapes and freshly formed bruises. Letting out a sigh, you relaxed your arms on the edge of the bath. This was definitely a right decision coming to the Masyaf public bath. Now, you could finally release the tension building up from today's work. Soon, you were joined by another, and as life would have it, the person now settling themselves in the opposite corner from you was Altaïr.

"I feel like we keep running into eachother." You stated, forcing to keep your eyes on the older man's face. He shrugged.

"Masyaf is small. It is not hard to find someone you know."

"Yes, I suppose that is true." You said lamely. That tension you were supposed to be geting rid of was now nothing but radiating around the room. Your arms now uncomfortable from staying raised, you brought them down by your sides. You shifted your weight, wary of this cramped silence. Hesitantly, Altaïr spoke.

"Did you... Did something happen to you before you came here?" You stared at him, a little unsure what to say.

"A lot of things happened, as I'm sure a lot of things happened to you." You replied. Irritated now, Altaïr tried again.

"I think we both know what 'thing' I'm talking about."

"And I think I don't own you any story or details to tell. I'm allowed to keep secrets that do no harm."

"That is true, but I am your mentor. You are a novice. In order to better understand a student one must know what happened to them."

"And if I was your mentor and you were my novice, would you tell me your backstory? No matter how painful it is to remember it?"

"...Yes."

"Liar. Altaïr, you barely know the first thing about me. To you, I'm just another face."

"Try me."

"What's my name?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Although Altaïr's expression was blank you could tell he had no idea what your name was. And you knew for a fact you had told him your name several times. You crossed your arms. Although you knew there wouldn't be a response, you waited for one. After a minute, there was still not one word spoken. Damn him, he wouldn't even apologize to you. He only sat there, staring. Perhaps, he was waiting for you to give it to him. Well, screw that.

"I knew it. You're too focused on only thinking of me as a novice. It's only 'novice, do this' 'novice, do that'. I am a real person, Altaïr. Not some random man off the streets." Exiting the bath and covering youself with a nearby towel you added one last remark. "Remember that Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."

Walking back to the castle was dreadfully slow. You wanted to run there, but you forced yourself to walk, trying to calm down the nerves in your brain. Every part of you wanted to hit somthing, to expend all your rage untill your knuckles were bloody and you couldn't move you arms. What a waste that would be, however. Instead you found yourself sitting on your bed, rubbing over the scar under your left eyes. Rubbing untill it hurt. Sighing, you laid back on the bed, mentally preparing yourself for what's to come.

* * *

It was cold. Just as Syria was blistering hot by day, it was an icey cold at night. You sat silently atop the small, stone railing connecting to one of the towers on the Assassin's guild. Your legs dangled dangerously over the side. From here you could see every star in the dark sky. When you were frustrated, you'd come up here to be calm. This was your safe haven, your little space all to yourself. But to be soothed was not your purpose ontop the tower tonight. You looked down, such a long drop. Falling on the ground and dying would be no problem. You sighed, a tear rolling down your face, then into your lap. You never thought it would come to this, but here you are. You stared, empty, at the ground. It was time.

"What are you doing?" Altaïr's voice spoke from behind you. You scoffed at his question, ignoring it instead.

"Great." You said scornfully. "All the more reason for me to jump." The older man said nothing. He simply walked to your side, placing a hand ontop of yours. The urge to scream, to jump, or to remove your hand was overwhelming at this point. But you sat, bottom glued to the stone.

"Look at me." He said softly, gripping his fingers around yours. You wanted to keep looking down, to pretend he wasn't there, but you just couldn't. You turned your head. Suprisingly, his hood was down, revealing the face you rarely got to see. Short brown hair, beautiful golden eyes, his thin nose and lips, and a soft stuble outlining his jaw. Truly, an attractive man. He looked sad and full of pain. You could only imagine how you looked. Suddenly, his lips were against yours, moving softly, as if a request. You wasted no time in responding, cupping his face and moving your mouth back, sychronizing your movements with him. Slowly, your legs shifted to inside the tower, now safe from any danger of falling. Right now, you only wanted to kiss Altaïr as doing so made a calm bubbly feeling grow in your stomach.

Your eyes snapped open, body projecting forward from your sweat drenched matress. You breathed quickly, thoughts racing through your head untill one made it's way to the surface.

" _What the hell was that!?_ "


	4. Dreams That Loom

"What even was that?"

"I've never had a dream like that."

"Surely I don't feel attraction to him, do I?"

"No! That would be wrong!"

"But then why..."

You paced nervously from one end of the room to the other. You had no idea what that was. It was a dream, for sure, but... In the past you've heard people say that dreams reflect who you are, truely, inside. So why in the world would you have a vivid dream about getting intimate with your mentor, Altaïr? Sure you had an underlying respect for him. But never would you think about.. kissing him.

You ran your fingers through your hair. Much like your bed it was also lightly coated in a cold sweat. Suddenly, a soft knocking came at your door. Dear God, it wasn't who you thought it was, was it? 'How would Altaïr know to be here, at this _very_ moment?' You reminded yourself. Cautiously walking over to the door, you opened it up, just a crack, only to be met with Kadar's bright, baby blue eyes. He smiled reassuringly. Releasing a breath, you opened the door the rest of the way to looking at him properly.

"Hey, I heard yelling from my room, are you ok?"

"Hello, Kadar. Yes, I am fine. I should exlain, heh. When I'm sleeping, I sometimes talk out loud and sometimes I start yelling, too. I am sorry if I woke you."

"Oh, no. I was awake already. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. Was it a bad dream?" You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yeah, something like that. Listen, thank you for asking but I'm fine. I'm going to try and get some more sleep before tommorow morning. You know how Altaïr is." Kadar bowed his head as a 'goodbye'.

"Safety and peace on you, brother."

"Safety and peace." You replied before closing the door and waited untill you could no longer hear Kadar's footsteps. Sighing, you placed your back against the door, sliding down untill you were sitting against the floor, knees brought up to your chest. How were you going to face Altaïr now? Maybe you should tell him about the dream? No, he would only laugh at that. Or make an arrogant remark stating even men fell for him. Damn him.

You slammed your fist against the ground. Such an idiot, you were. How did this even happen? Dropping your head, refusing to think about anything except sleep, you slowly crawled to your bed and wrapped yourself in the comforting sheets and pillows. Soon, you drifted off to an uneasy, dreamless slumber.

"Rise and shine, novice!" The feeling of a pillow crashing against your face startled you into waking up. Instinctively, you fought off whatever was attacking you which, in turn, caused you to fall over the side of your bed due to your legs getting hoplessly tangled in the thin, white sheets. Someone was laughing. A nice, deep and happy laugh. Propping yourself up with your arms, looking over the bed, was Malik, who was having trouble breathing from what just occurred.

"Oh, _screw you!_ " You growled. He only laughed harder before calming himself with a few deep breaths.

"I am sorry. I did not expect you to fall over like that." Malik apologized, raising his hands up in a surrendering gesture, still giggling. You rolled your eyes, untangling your legs then standing up.

"Why are you even here?" You asked.

"Kadar insisted on inviting you and your friend, Nada, to eat breakfast with us. How could I object? Kadar doesn't have many friends, so it's good to see he is really getting along with someone." Malik explained. You smiled at him.

"Truely, you are a good brother." The other man shrugged.

"I try my best. Come on now, change your clothes then meet us in the dining hall." You nodded and then Malik left you alone to get ready.

A few minutes later you were joining Kadar, his older brother, and Nada at a rectangular table, with your meal. A simple Syrian breakfast consisting of various cheeses, Arabian flat bread, orange slices, and a cup of herbal tea.

The dining hall was a light and bubbly place. Chit-chat and laughter seemed to bounce off the towering stone walls as people ate and drank. Light flooded the room from a series of giant skylights, making everything on the ground seem to glow. At night you could come here and look up into the night sky, a pale moon hanging, weightless in the air. It was generally a peaceful place for friends, old and new, to connect and share stories.

Sipping your tea, you looked around you at the other wood tables filled with assassin's, mainly novices, you noticed. But the air was filled with an odd sort of feeling. One similar to electricity or a strange snake-like buzz. Brothers, and few sisters, were crowding together, surely trying to conceal whatever gossip they disscussed. Then, wave of fear hit you when more than a few assassins turned their head to glance at you then quickly look away. They were talking about you or some event concerning you. Never before had you been so sure about something. They weren't still disscussing about the apparently 'legendary' fight between you and Altaïr, were they? That was weeks ago.

Suddenly, a large thump vibrated next you, nearly causing you to drop the terra cotta cup in your hands from shock. Quickly turning to look at the source of disruption, you found Altaïr, quietly eating his breakfast. The sudden memory of last night's dream came flooding into your mind. As casually as you could, you threw your hood over your head to try and hide the growing blush across your face. You were hoping people would pass it off as you didn't want to anger your mentor in just the first minute of interaction today. However, your suddenly different composition and manner did not go unnoticed.

"Hey, are you alright? You look all red and shaky." Nada questioned. At that, Altaïr's head perked up.

"N-No, I'm fine. I think it is just the tea, it is very hot." You stammered. Your mentor turned towards you, momentarily forgeting his food.

"If you are sick, we do not have to train today. Rest is important." He said.

"I am fine, really." You protested, giving Altaïr a shaky smile, at best. He simply furrowed his brow, whispering your name in a soft exasperation. It would only be much later in the day when you realized he called you by name and not by 'novice' when you never told him what it was after 'The Bathhouse Incident', as you called it.

"Oh, leave him alone, Altaïr." Malik interrupted. "If he says he is fine then you should believe him."

"Only insane people believe they are not crazy." The other master assassin countered before turning back to you. Without warning, he placed the back of his hand against your forhead. You froze, 'What is he doing? Why is he touching me?' You could barely make a sound of discomfort before he was already retracting his hand away.

"You feel warm." Altaïr stated, "It is possible you are sick. So whether you like it or not, I am giving you a day off. Spend that time to catch up on your books, or something else. Just don't overexert yourself." He commanded. You could only nod, still in complete and utter shock. Then, out of nowhere, he passed a small smile at you. _Thee_ assassin, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, smiled at you. His actions felt like a dirty secret got out as you felt the eyes of everyone in the room resting, specifically, on you. You could barely muster up a smile back at him before he was picking up his items and speaking to you.

"Good. I must be going, Al Mualim has asked me to meet with him. I suspect it is about a new mission." And without another word, he left. You had to calm yourself with a few deep breaths. Your brain was still trying to process what just happened. Nada was staring at you with a suggestive expression. You shook your head at her, sending psychic vibes for her to not speak a word. Smiling knowingly, she looked back down to her plate. Wolfing down the rest of your meal, nearly choking once or twice, you gathered up your things.

"I-I have to go, too." You stuttered before making a hasty retreat to the village of Masyaf, leaving your mildly suprised friends.

Keeping a steady pace you found yourself in need to walk off the trembling nerves in your head and collect your thoughts. You sighed loudly, pacing from tree to tree repeating over and over in your mind, _'I am not attracted to him, he is not attracted to me.' 'I do not like him.' 'He is a MAN for crying out loud!'_ Finally calming your senses, you rested your forhead against the rough bark of an oak. _'What am I doing? Is this really something I should be worrying over insistently? No, of course not. It's my day off. That means relaxation.'_ Putting all thoughts of Altaïr, the fight, 'The Bathhouse Incident', and the dream in the far reaches of your mind, you quickly scaled up the boughs of the tree. Finding a reasonably comfy spot, not too high up, you settled yourself, letting your body be cradled by branches and leaves as you viewed the ever blue sky. Only a few clouds dotted the atmosphere, today. As you focused on the scenery above you, a feeling of calmness washed over your body, slowly adding weight on your eyelids, till you could keep them open no more. Still enclosed in the great oak's branches and protection, you fell into a light sleep.

* * *

 _"Mama! Papa! Come on! Come on! Your gonna miss it!"_

 _"Alright, alright, we're coming."_

 _"The celebration is so beautiful, mama. So many colors and smells."_

 _"It truly is. Listen, I know you are a just a little boy now, but when you grow up, never forget these types of happinesses. There is so much life right in front of your eyes. It would be a shame to miss it."_

 _"Is that what you told papa? When you first met?"_

 _"She sure did, little one. Your mother is very smart. I don't know if I'd be alive today if it wasn't for her. Heheh."_

 _"Come now, it is getting late. It's time for little boys to go to sleep, yes?"_

 _"But motheeerr!"_

 _"Aw, let's stay a little while longer, dear. Just untill the dancing ends."_

 _"Alright... we can stay."_

 _"Yaaay!"_

 _"I love you, my son. You are always so full of life."_

 _"I love you, too, mama."_

* * *

A soft nudging on your arm, woke you. Looking around you found Nada staring at you from the ground. She chuckled.

"What were you doing in the tree?" She asked. You smiled at her.

"I was simply resting my eyes. It's quite comfortable up here." You replied. She placed her hands on her hips.

"Is that so? Oh, right, there are things I want to tell you. I only just heard about them. Come down so you can listen properly." She said. With a puzzled look, you hopped out the tree, gently landing on the ground in front of her.

"What is it? Surely nothing bad?" You asked. Nada shook her head.

"No, nothing bad. You may have already noticed it, but practically everyone is speaking about you." Your heart pounded, remembering the anxiety you felt, only a little bit ago in the dining hall. "It turns out, last night, and early this morning, Altaïr was going around asking everyone he could for your name. It took him a while before he found someone who knew it. I think it was that doctor fellow, Halim?" She explained. You stood frozen to the spot, now suddenly remembering that he did say your name to you, and 'The Bathhouse Incident', unfortunately, wasn't part of your dream.

"The real question is, why was he trying to find out your name? Did something happen between the two of you?" Nada asked. You sighed.

"Yeah, I.. He... I was sick of him thinking he was just allowed into my life, without ANY obligation from me. And I had to prove that he didn't know a thing about me, that he wasn't welcome into my personal thoughts. Long story short, he ended up proving he didn't remember my name. And now, we have, this." You shook your hands harshly, for emphasis. Nada placed her hand on your shoulder for comfort.

"That's awful. I agree with you, though. If he has to go through all this trouble just to find out your name instead of simply asking you then maybe he really doesn't deserve to know your life." You smiled at her. How did you get such an amazing friend, like this? You supposed that was one good thing meeting Altaïr caused

"Speaking of Altaïr, I think he was looking for you. Something about a mission from Al Mualim." Nada said. You placed a hand on your chin.

"Al Mualim is sending me out on a mission already?"

"I guess he thinks you are ready once again."

"Am I to go with another?"

"I really have no idea, my friend. But a wise young man once told me, 'you are very talented' and to 'never doubt yourself '" She said shyly. You smiled, remembering your previous words.

"Thank you, Nada. I'm sure I will be fine if I end up going alone." Looking up at the sky you could see the sun slowly sinking into the horizon, casting the beautiful colors of any sunset. "I must go. I have to find Altaïr or Al Mualim, see what they want of me." And with that, you left to search the castle.

* * *

Finding Al Mualim wouldn't be hard. That is, if it was a normal day and he was pacing in front of his desk, as always. Imagine your suprise when you found his stone floor paceless and desk deserted. Looking around, you pulled over the nearest assassin.

"Where is the master?" You demanded to know. The brother shrugged.

"Away on buisness. Couldn't be bothered to tell us. I suspect he will be back tommorow." You bowed your head.

"Thank you. Safety and peace."

So, seeking out the grand master assassin was out of the question. Padding down the candle-lit stone hallways you peered down corners, endlessly trying to spot your next target, Altaïr. Not finding the assassin in question buried in the deeper corners of Masyaf Castle you walked outside, still aimlessly searching for him. Dusk was just setting in, making it hard to see inbetween the warm circles of fire.

"Lost?" Jumping, then whipping around you found yourself face-first into the folds of pristine white robes belonging to your mentor. Quickly stammering backwards, a blush making its way across your cheeks. Luckily he couldn't see it in the dark. You looked up, again, you forgot how tall Altaïr was.

"U-Uh, no! I was l-looking for y-you." Words tumbled out your mouth in a jumbled mess. In an attempt to stop them you clamped a hand over your lips, forcing them shut. You really did not need to embarrass yourself further. Altaïr, on the other hand, was as stoic and expressionless as ever.

"I was as well, I have been given a mission. You and I are going to be stationed at Jerusalem." He explained. Removing your hand, you spoke.

"What does the mission entail?"

"I've been instucted to keep that to myself untill you need to know." You nodded, mutually agreeing.

"When do we leave?"

"Right now. Gather anything you need, quickly, then meet me at the stables." Altaïr ordered. And like a good little student, you ran to your room, quickly scavenging the shelves and drawers in your furniture. Making everything was secure, you ran as fast as your legs could carry you down to the entrance of Masyaf. Slowing to a walk, you caught your breath and found Altaïr, two horses in hand, simply waiting. He barely moved at all aside from swiveling his head around the area, checking for predators. Somewhat like an eagle, you mused.

"Are you ready? It will be a few days ride to get there." Altaïr said, handing you the reins to a brown horse, taking the white one for himself. Placing your left foot into a stirrup, you quickly hoisted yourself up, sliding your other leg over the back of the horse.

"I'll be fine." You said, lately answering Altaïr's question. "Are we only going to ride there by horse? Wouldn't you much rather take a boat? It would be faster." Your mentor's face suddenly turned a pale white, despite his skin being well tanned from days spent under the Syrian sun.

"Let's not talk about it." He said, blatantly avoiding the subject. You smirked at him.

"What? Are you afraid of water?"

"...Shut up!"


	5. The Whispered Order

From far away, Jerusalem seemed more like one giant entity than a few hundred seperate buildings. From far away, the walls seperating houses crowded together and almost seemed to move as one through the heat of the sun. The ground and mud caked enclosures were a pale tan, bleached by the battering sunlight. It was a warm colored city, for sure, but as you finally cleared the thickets of forests and valleys, arriving at the top of a hill overlooking Jerusalem with Altaïr, the city almost seemed to give off this greenish yellowish glow. It resonated from every building and tower. Even the metropolis walls and ground emitted the foreign green hue.

You stretched your arms, interlocking fingers over your head. You gave out a quite groan, dropping your arms to roll your head, cracking your neck in the process.

"Tired?" Altaïr teased, a smirk growing on his face. You laughed.

"Hardly, I'm just saddle-sore." You explained, starting up your horse, you walked it down the winding path to the massive gates of Jerusalem. Altaïr rode next to you, cautiously staring at the vendors near the entrance. Then towards the hoards of guards surrounding the portcullis to the city.

"We will need a disguise or cover to get inside.." Altaïr said. You stopped your horse, sliding off it and then tying it to a post, your mentor followed suit.

"No need. We can get by with a little charm." You suggested, resting your hood on your shoulders. "You need to take your hood off, too. It's conspicuous." Altaïr gave you a disgruntled look. Almost as if taking off his hood would be the end of his life. It's true, Altaïr would never be caught with his face revealed outside of Masyaf. Many did not know why he hid his face from everyone. Maybe he was just that professional? Or something else? Who knew. So, with much hesitation and curses under his breath, Altaïr took down his hood. He looked a little different here than in your dream, you noticed his lips were considerably chapped, and his light brown hair was stiffly cut and thrown in every direction possible. His eyes were like two yellow glowing orbs. And now, in the sunlight, the scar over his lips was more prominent than ever. You smiled, suddenly in a very good mood.

"You should show your face more often." You remarked. "Anyways, just follow my lead." The two of you walked up to the guards, as expected, they stopped you.

"Halt! State your buisness here." One asked, cautiously placing his palm on the pommel of his longsword. You bowed respectfully, a hand on your collarbone.

"We are here to visit family." Then you faced the guard, giving the sweetest and friendliest smile you could conjure. "Surely, you are kind and hadsome enough to let me through? I know how boring be a guard is. Nothing to do but check the people who want to get in.." You drawled your voice, as if to sound more sympathetic. The man smiled back, obviously happy someone was recognizing his talents. But the annoyed, and slightly disgusted, expression on Altaïr's face put the gaurd off. Discreetly, you stepped on your mentor's toes, signaling him to stop whatever it was he was doing. Suddenly, he broke out into an awkward, cheeky grin, exposing all his perly whites. The guard seemed to buy it and let you both through.

The first thing Altaïr did after successfully getting inside was hastily put his hood back on, then forcefully put yours up after it was clear you were going to make no move to change it. The two of you walked swiftly to the assassin's bureau, your mentor leading the way.

"You didn't have to step on my foot. It hurt you know." He grumbled at you.

"Aw, I'm sorry." You said sarcastically. "Trust me, if I hadn't made you get that irritated look off your face we would have never gotten in."

"Hmph. And since when did you become so charismatic in the first place?" Altaïr asked. You shrugged, looking up at him.

"I've always had a silver tounge. You just don't know me as well as you'd like to think."

The rest of the way was spent in silence. Nothing else was there to be said.

Eventually, the two of you found yourself daintily hopping down into the assassin's bureau that was secretly operating in Jerusalem. Sunlight poured through open roof onto the dirt covered floor lain with pillows and beautifully weaved carpets. Ivy crept down the walls, tiny stems digging their way into the cracks between dry bricks. It smelled like old books, mold, and wet mud.

"How much time has passed since someone was down here?" You asked, following Altaïr into the next room which was darker and filled with rotting shelves and ancient tomes. The older man walked to a desk, which, suprisingly, was still intact, he stroked three fingers along the surface.

"A very long time.." He replied, showing his hand to you, red and grey dust powdered his fingertips all splotchy-like. You wrinkled your nose.

"Shouldn't someone be here?" You continued questioning. Altaïr paused.

"Perhaps, it has been a peaceful time untill recently. Jerusalem was a supporter of the Assassins. There were no great targets to eliminate. Any missions here were small ones, they did not need direction from a Rafiq."

"And now?"

"Al Mualim has not told me the details, only that something evil is rising. Something that could take over all of humanity, and destroy the brotherhood."

You shuddered at the thought of whatever that could be. Of course, as an assassin, it would be your obligation and duty to stop whatever superpower this was. But you couldn't help getting a bad feeling in the back of your brain. Something about this wasn't right. It wasn't right at all and you could feel it, deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I suppose we should start our work, novice. At least I know it's nothing I can't handle."

You perked your head up, forgetting the fallacious feeling for now.

"Yes, what is this mission that was so carefully kept secret from me?"

So Altaïr explained it to you. You were both to go around the city, gathering as much information as you could, see what names and faces keep popping up. The main objective was to remain discreet. After seeing all those gaurds near the gate, attracting attention would only lead to unwanted trouble. Altaïr would cover the West half of the city, and you would cover the East. After hearing about the assignment, you couldn't help but agree with your mentor, this seemed to be a bit easy. Maybe even too easy...

The crowded streets of Jerusalem were... hectic, to say in the least. Not only did bodies mass together and push in lines and small groups, words, and smells jammed up the walkways. Shouts of marketing or arguments took up the silence. Smells of incense, spices, food, and, of course; mud, filled the air. Even here, at ground level, Jerusalem had that green glow to it. Perhaps it was something in the soil and clay around this area. Both were known to be mysteriously olive-like in color at rare places.

You decided to find somewhere more secluded, this was no place to eavesdrop successfully, considering you could barely hear yourself speak.

Finding yourself in a nice, quite, courtyard, you sat on a nearby stone bench, making yourself comfy. Only a mild amount of people circled the area, the smell of sweet Syrian flowers wafted up into your nose. It would be a little while untill someone decided to have a good conversation here. There were a few common topics you were able to pick up bits and pieces of while walking around. Mainly information from the town crier. He talked of many people, but a few who caught your attention were Majd Addin and a Talal (there was no mentioned last name).

But then, after you had been sitting for maybe an hour or so, a couple of men shuffled in, whispering amongst themselves. You focused your hearing while trying to blend in with the pale wall behind you. Suffice to say, there wasn't anything of use to be heard. There was 'great power, evil, fear, blah blah blah' it was facts and figures you already knew. However one man whispered a name that made his companion go pale.

"Robert de Sable."

You never heard of a name like that. It didn't come from Syria, that was for sure. You thought about a face to go with that out-of-place name. Perhaps he had well groomed hair, a light color that was always clean and parted down the middle. It seemed he would have a foreign face to go alone with his foreign name. No brown skin and browner-still eyes for this man. Suddenly, you thought of Kadar and his bright blue eyes greatly contrasting his dark skin.

You gazed up at the sky, it was late, it was time to go back and give Altaïr what you gathered.

Altaïr was, of course, waiting patiently for you in that smug sort of way. Like you should have been back earlier. It pissed you off.

"What did you find?" Heh, typical master assassin. Always a 'no nonsense' type of guy. So you told him the first two names, and the general chatter about what the citizen's think, namely; hatred and fear. But you paused at the last scrap of knowledge you collected, somehow the foreign name had gotten to you, as well as the citizens. It was a scary-sounding thing. But.. 'Why?' was the question.

"There's something else, another name. His name was Robert... Robert de something-"

"Robert de Sable?" Altaïr interrupted. You nodded.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"I only know what others have told me. He is something to be feared, a true monster, it seems. Is he here, in Jerusalem?"

"It seems so. When I was listening to the men talk about them, they both went white as a sheet and stiffer than stone. I've never seen anyone get ao scared because of a name. What does he have that makes him so intimidating?"

"Power, and nothing short than an army. Now that I'm thinking about it, all these new guards must be his. The only question left now is, why is he here?"

You stared at the thin grain in the table. Concentratng on ideas. None came to mind. Perhaps Altaïr was asking a rhetorical question, but it didn't seem like it.

"Any matter, I got some food for us." He handed you half of a loaf of bread. A meager meal. "It is not much.." He dragged on.

"It is enough. Thank you." You took a hungry bite, but chewed the bread slowly. Altaïr did the same. And so the two of you sat in a peaceful silence.

"I insist that you take it. I've spent many nights without such comfort."

"Altaïr.. If you try and put it on me I will throw it on your face."

"..."

You shivered. If Masyaf nights weren't nippy, Jerusalem's certainly were. You adjusted the pillow under your head, trying to get comfy. There was only one blanket, that said one blanket was resting heavily on Altaïr. Of course, he was trying to make you take the blanket, simply trying to make himself not feel guilty. He cared about you, in his own weird little way. You couldn't wrap yourself in the carpets, of course. They were much too dirty, and somehow did not provide the same comfort as a blanket.

You sneezed. Twice. Then another shiver ran up your spine.

"Alright, that's it." Suddenly, Altaïr was pulling your arm, and by extension, you, towards him.

"Wh-What are you d-doing!?" You stammered. The older man remained silent as he took half the blanket and draped it over your body. Then, he stoutly turned to his side, back facing you.

"I can't have you catching a cold on my watch, so we are just going to share." Altaïr half grumbled.

Still shocked, a blush creeping on your face (thank God it was dark in the room), you layed down next to him, your backs touching. He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his clothes, hear his deep breaths, smell the faint aroma of spices with a hint of musk radiating off this man who you were sleeping next to. Well, pretending to sleep. You clenched the fabric around your heart, willing it to stop it's fluttery beating. Of course, you only dismissed this reaction as 'you still have boundaries when it came to touching'. You did, but that wasn't the reason why you felt so flustered, and you knew it. So the real reason why you were like this? No idea. You had not one clue.

Shuting your eyes closed, blocking out any distracting thoughts, you fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"No... No... Stop it..."

Altaïr's eyes snapped open. Just like they were trained to do when he heard even the slightest disturbance. Already, his senses were sharp and ready for any sudden movements.

"Please... Stop..."

It was soft whimpering. Not coming from outside of the small hut. But right next to him. To be more precise, from you. You were talking in your sleep. And from what was being said, presumably a nightmare.

Altaïr sat up, turning to look at the fuzzy black shadow that was you. You stirred, your voice hitching and raspy. In a moment of terror, Altaïr thought you were going to wake up. Quite the opposite, actually. Still deep in sleep, you rolled over to the wall, pulling the blanket with you as your arms thrashed in open space. You cried openly. Short sobs escaping your lips. Altaïr was very concerned now. He crawled over to you, clasping onto your wrists, trying to stop you from accidentally hurting yourself. Slowly you came to consiousness as the older man called your name

You flicked your eyes open to see Altaïr's worried moonlit face over yours.

"What... What happened?" You knew what happened. You knew you were having the dreams again. But somehow, you thought hearing it come from Altaïr would make you feel better.

"Bad dream, I suppose. You were thrashing all over. I was afraid you might hurt yourself."He explained. You were wrong, it didn't feel better. Maybe it was the way he was so non-chalant about it.

You sat up, rubbing your head, a dull pain throbbed on the back of your scalp.

"Do you remember what happened in the dream? It sounded like you were crying, but I couldn't see you very well."

"No, I don't. It was all kinda a blur." You lied. It was the same dream every single night for the past few years. Remembering that dream was a breeze. Altaïr nodded, believing you. He made his way back to the sleeping area, motioning for you to come over. To tired to think about what he was really saying, you laid next to him, once again. After resettling the blanket around your bodies, he wraoped his arms around you, pulling your face into his warm chest.

"Not one word about this, novice. I'm only doing it so you won't roll away again. I have no desire to be cold this night." He excused. You were too tired to even respond. Sleeping was the only thing on your mind. Wordlessly, you snaked your arms around Altaïr, returning his embrace. It wasn't long before you fell asleep in your mentor's arms. They were so similar to the oak tree boughs you slept in earlier. Enviting and peaceful. Strong, too. His arms felt like they could protect you from anything. Even the dreams.

That was the first night in a long time the dream didn't come bobbing up to the surface. And you had no doubt in your mind it was because of Altaïr.


	6. Discovery

You woke up alone, only the sun shining through the ceiling keeping you warm. There was an empty spot where Altaïr had slept. Subconsciously, you ran a hand over the area. It was stone cold. So he had been gone for a while. But where? What time was it, even?

You groaned, pushing yourself up from the floor. The flat ground was never comfortable, no matter how many pillows there were. Your hips and arms ached, part of any assassin's training. But mainly it was getting used to the pain. It wasn't that it didn't hurt, it was just that you were good at ignoring it.

Running a hand through your hair, you paced the room, circulating blood to your legs. It was a morning ritual you did every day, walking back and forth untill you were fully awake.

After stretching a bit, you climbed up the walls, out the ceiling, and onto the roof. It was nice out, maybe almost noon, the sun was out, as always, and a pleasant breeze drifted through your loose clothes. Taking a deep breath, you clambered down the building into an empty alleyway. You paused at the mouth, quickly surveying the crowd from the shadows. Just like all those years of training taught you. Cautiously, you stepped out into the street, trying to make it look like you had no association with the alleyway in any way possible. You walked confidently, quick and quiet steps, becoming hyperaware of your surroundings. Of course, it was hard to imagine where you would start with your search for Altaïr. It was a big city, after all.

Quietly, your stomach rumbled. Well, there was no way you could find your mentor on an empty stomach, that's for sure. The lack of food and the interruption of sleep last night had you frazzled. Without a clear mind, you couldn't find a clear man.

* * *

On the corner of a particularily deserted street, there stood a soup kitchen. Smells of onions and wilted greens reached your nose. Walking over, you peered into the various wooden pots filled with soup. It was more like a vendor, there were no nearby tables or chairs.

"What will it be, boy?"

You looked up, an overweight man wearing dirty clothes was giving you an equally dirty look. Timidly, you pointed to a pot. While the greasy man scooped a wood bowl into the soup, you reached into your back pouch, pulling out a few coins.

"That'll be 6 shekels." He said. You gave him 7. Perhaps some good karma would be of use today. The man smirked and exited to count his money. Silently, you took the bowl and left.

* * *

The streets were still quiet as death. Only a few stragglers remained. Almost no merchants were shouting incomprehensible words. No new strange smells drifted through the air. It wasn't the holy day, was it? 'No,' a small voice echoing in your head said, 'No, today's Wednesday, not Sunday.'

Suddenly, a couple of kids ran past you, nearly bumping into your legs. They laughed and skipped, chatting in high pitched tones. There were only a few words you could make out as they ran away.

"Courtyard... Hanging... Assassin..." It was enough to get you moving. Eating the rest of the broth based soup in one giant gulp, you tossed the bowl aside and started running. A stack of crates provided a good way to the roofs. Clambering over wood and brick you continued running, even swifter, jumping over ledges and gaps onto the next building. This was one thing you missed about missions; your feet slapping on the dirty ground, heart pouding in your ears, and your heavy breathing; in, out, in, out.

Leaping gracefully over another pile of boxes, you rose higher, getting a better view of the town. You stopped, caught your breath, then surveyed the city with hawk-like vision. Jerusalem was big. Massive, even. There could be hundreds of large courtyards. You knew if Altaïr, the person you were searching for this whole time, was at the hanging, it would be one nearby. Wheeling around, you spotted it. A sizeable amount of people crowded around a gallows platform. There was no time to waste. Jumping down, you headed towards the courtyard at full speed, ignoring the growing ache in your gut and stomach.

'What if the assassin being hanged is Altaïr?' Said a thought, plaguing your mind.

'No, it can't be.' Said the voice again, 'You know he is much too good to get captured. You know this.' It was the only shred of hope you had to hold onto. However, the previous thought only made you run faster, starting a terrible thirst in the back of your throat.

10 feet within the courtyard you couldn't think clearly, your only concern was getting to the crowd-line and pulling out your sword. Your sword! Looking down at yourself, you realized, in absolute horror, there was no sword, there was no anything. Except one, small, throwing knife that you never took out of your boot. It would be your only chance. Putting up your hood, you made you way through the crowd, silently, and unnoticed.

On the makeshift wood platform stood a man dressed in expensive blue robes, a turban wraped around his head. He paced back and forth yelling at the crowd, building the energy.

"People if Jerusalem! Today, we have a very special treat for you!" The crowd cheered in response. "Today we were able to catch one of our worse enemies, an assassin!" Boos echoed from the townspeoples mouths. Two men entered the stage one bound, a sack over his head, he was dressed in an assassin's white robes, but despite the situation, he remained completely calm and collected. The other was a guard, keeping the assassin's arms pinned behing his back. The pair walked up to the hanging noose looming over everyone. As they stood, the fancy man quieted the crowd and walked up to the prisoner. He roughly ripped off the sack covering the condemned man, revealing his face. And there he was, bright as day; brown hair, tan skin, a defined jawline, and those unmistakable golden eyes. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad stood in front of death, cleverly disguised as a rope knotted into a loop. You remained stoic, however inside your mind was screaming. As if on cue, you discreetly unsheathed the throwing knife from your boot, worming your way closer to your mentor and his captors. One chance, that's all you'd get. Just one.

"Do you have any last words, assassin?" The fancy man asked. Altaïr scanned the crowd once before turning back to the ugly, sneering face of his confiner.

"Just that I hope they remember to breath." Everyone in the crowd became clueless but yourself. He was referring to you and the training, something only the two of you shared. Somehow, you couldn't help but smile as the fancy man blinked, confused, mouth slightly ajar. He cleared his throat and turned back to his audience.

"Anyways, citizens! It is time for judgment to rain apon this man! He is a sinner, he would do his best to sow seeds of doubt into the minds of the innocent, not unlike you! I, Talal, must stop him as would God. So, shall we decide his fate!?" The crowed cheered loudly, it was so deafening you could barely focus on visualizing your one throw. It would have to cut right through the rope the second after Altaïr drops, only then would it be taught enough to have a knife cut through like butter. But if you missed...

"Well, assassin! It seems today is your last." Talal spat. Altaïr said nothing. The guard behind pushed him up to the noose, unceremoniously wrapping it around his neck, then tightening the knot. The guard left to stand alert next to a lever, which would slam open the trapdoor beneath your mentor's feet.

The crowd fell silent, thankfully. You slid the blade between your thumb and index finger, taking a deep breath. You would have to throw horizontallly, with no amount of force applied. It would be ok. You can do it, like the thousands of times before. But still, you had only one shot. One.

"I, Talal, as a protector of the people, pronounce you guilty!" Instinctively, you widened your stance, bringing your hand close to the opposite shoulder.

"Your sentence is.." You took a deep breath, all signs of emotion melting out of your face.

"DEATH!" On cue, the guard pulled the lever and the trapdoor fell. Altaïr's neck snapped against the rope as he made the most guttural sounds while struggling. It was now or never. You threw your arm forward using every inch of your anatomy to put as much force in the blade as possible. It spun towards the rope at an alarming speed, as predicted, it slid right through. But it wasn't enough, a few fibers of the rope held up they wouldn't last long, but neither would Altaïr.

You darted forward, the crowd parting for you. At top speed you clambered up the stage and rushed towards the guard. In one quick move, the handle of his sword was in your hand and the blade skewed through his stomach. Warm blood splattered your face and stained the white cuffs of your outfit. Panting, you removed the blade, leaving the guard to keel over and bleed out. Next was the rope, in a quick turn you ran the blade right through the remaining threads. Altaïr dropped to the ground like a sack. He coughed madly as you joined him on the ground. More guards were coming, you were sure, but right now your only concern was Altaïr. Carefully, you removed the noose and undid his bindings. He was still coughing, although he couldn't speak the gratefulness shone in his eyes. As gentle as you could you lifted him up and helped him out from under the stage.

The townspeople by now, had long since fled. Talal's people were blocking the exits, swords pointed at you and Altaïr. You gripped the blade in your hand tighter, nails digging into your palms. Your mentor righted himself, seemingly recovered. He nodded at you as you both took offensive stances. There were about ten guards, five for each of you. Suddenly, you and Altaïr rushed towards the men faster than anything, everything was a blur. You only remember stabbing and slashing your way through the bodies and silence filling with the sound of your heartbeat. _Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum, da-dum_. It was almost haunting how loud and how fast it beat in your ears.

The last man lay at your feet, currently drowning in a pool of dark red blood. You panted and stared. It was all you could do, breath in, out, and bore holes into the man's body with your gaze. You stood there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to fully process what just happened and what you just did. What did you just do? You killed men. Men just doing their job, they probably had families. You did a horrible and cursed apon thing, murder. And yet... and yet, after realizing all that, you felt... nothing. And so the staring continued.

A firm hand gripped your shoulder. You turned, it was Altaïr, he was just as covered in blood as you were. Out of shock, you dropped the blood soaked sword in your hand. It clattered loudly as it made contact with the ground. Altaïr made no reaction. He simply motioned in the vague direction of the bureau,

"We need to leave, now." His voice was raspy, parched even. No doubt a result of being hanged. Although your mind was blank it was like your body was on autopilot mode. Legs starting to walk swiftly to the bureau, breathing becoming regular, fists clenched. Altaïr followed closely behind, never speaking a word

* * *

Hood down, sitting against the stone bureau wall, with legs crossed, Altaïr watched. He watched more intently than perhaps anything before, something was off. Something was very, very off. That something in question was you. You were on the other side of the room preparing dinner for yourself and Altaïr, since you didn't dare trust the older man with cooking even in a million years. A concentrated look was on your face. But still, the older assassin's gaze was fixed on your every move. Something was terribly different and he knew it. The way you acted after that little skirmish came across as odd. Unhealthy, maybe. If only he could-

"Hello? I'm trying to speaking with Altaïr, is he in there?" Your voice snapped him out of his thought process.

"Uh.. sorry, did you say something?" He asked non-chalantly. You sighed,

"I asked if you are hungry, I made some food." You handed him a wood plate with a sandwich and grapes on the side. Altaïr gawked.

"Where did you get this?"

"Meh, I stole it on the way here when you weren't looking." He raised an eyebrow.

"You couldn't just pay for it?"

"I have a limited amount of money, Alti. Plus, stealing is faster." You smirked. Your mentor flinched, as if he had been given a blow to the face.

"D-Don't call me that.." He muttered under his breath. Taking a bite of the sandwich you looked at Altaïr.

"So... are you gonna tell me?" You ask.

"Tell you what?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe how the great master assassin, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad gets captured and almost killed at a hanging." You teased. He frowned.

"I was gathering more information. I decided to find and eavesdrop on the people you mentioned. There was a man with a bow and arrow who was walking with Talal. I think his name was... Majd Addin. Anyways, I heard something very intriguing. They mentioned a temple, here, in Jerusalem said to be cursed with some kind of witchcraft. They say a golden light emerges from that temple and possesses people."

"That sounds impossible. How can you say for sure that it's real?"

"I can't, but there is only one temple I know of in Jerusalem: Solomon's temple." You finished the last bite of your sandwich and started on the grapes.

"We should investigate then, yes?"

"Tommorow, I am much too tired today, you need rest as well."

"Hmph. How did you get caught, anyways?" You asked. Altaïr froze, a light blush bloomed on his cheeks. You smirked, inching forward. "Well?"

"It wasn't my fault!" He slurred. You burst out laughing. It felt good, to laugh again after so long. Altaïr shot daggers from his eyes at you. "Listen, there was this old lady who started making a ruckus and I didn't know what to do so I _tried_ to calm her down but she just kept screaming at me and then Talal and Majd saw me and I tried to run but their guards ambushed me and then they tied me up and said, 'oh, let's go hang him now.'" He was rambling. You had never seen Altair acting so flustered or acting so, normal. As it was, you were barely containing yourself from full on howling with laughter. But this? This was priceless. You only realized a few seconds later that Altaïr was laughing, too. What a strange thing to hear. His laugh was so gentle unlike everything else about him. Maybe the only other time he was like this was when he apologized for hurting you and the day after that when you both ate in silence under a tree in Masyaf. How is it that Altaïr can be so different at times? To you it seemed like everyone thinks of him as arrogant, prideful, and rebellious. Which, in fact, he had no shortage of those atributes, but under that, he seemed friendly, reflective, and somehow even caring? You smiled to yourself.

What a strange discovery.

((omg, sorry that took so long to update. BUT IT'S FINISHED. AHHHHHHhhHhh. Anyways, enjoy!))


	7. Your Gods of Gold

Before you stood the giant mouth leading into the caves which connected to Solomon's temple. You cocked back your left hand, making sure the hidden blade was working. Your right hand was balled into a fist, tightly. Altaïr discreetly side-eyed you, assessing. He was still concerned about whatever was 'off'. He couldn't quite place it. But then again, if he tried to ask, it was more than likely you'd shut him out again. He couldn't help that, he supposed. After all, he had been a little forceful before. Well, maybe not just a little.

"Are you ready?" He asked you. You turned, snapping back into reality.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I am." You replied. He glanced over you once, then behind him, and entered the temple. You also looked behind you before passing into the caves, quickly catching up to Altaïr.

The energy inside was like nothing you had felt before. Surely, it was nothing from this earth. It seemed warm, and inviting, but at the same time it was like as if a friendly person was standing but holding a knife behind their back. It was hard to explain, to say in the least. It almost felt.. inexplicably thick. Like a curtain was wrapped around your body, smothering you.

You surveyed the cavern's walls carefully. They didn't seem to hold any useful information, but you couldn't help but be interested.

"It... It is a strange aura in here, no?" Altaïr asked.

"Yes, I wouldn't trust it if I were you. As with many strange feelings." Altaïr seemed to relax a tiny bit before returning to his normal alertness.

The only sound came from both of your feet, echoing into the deeper parts of the tunnels. You watched Altaïr, he seemed focused on just walking forward. Suddenly he turned his head and returned your stare, almost as if he knew you were observing him closely. Quite abruptly, he stopped, and faced you.

"I know I have no right, I know after all I've done I shouldn't even ask but, what happened to you?" He said gently. Your heartbeat quickened, perhaps you couldn't keep lying or avoiding the subject anymore.

"Why do you ask?" You probed, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Because ever since the hanging you've been acting different. I can't help but feel that it has something to do with your past. Please, tell me." Altaïr explained. You almost started crying then and there. He was being so careful, so kind. What happened to that arrogance you experience first hand? What happened to that, 'I could care less about you' attitude? Maybe, just maybe, you could trust him with this.

"Listen, there is no easy way to share what happened but, from what I remember, I was just a boy, I had a happy, normal life. I loved my mama and papa very much. Heh... loved, that is." Although you desperately didn't want them to, tears started to sting at your eyes. "One day, a group of men broke into our house. They called themselves Templars.

"Mother tried to hide me, of course that didn't work. They found all of us. They tied up mother and father then handed me a knife. I had to.. to..." The words choked in your throat. Altaïr was already in front of you, pulling you into a tight hug. Fat, heavy tears rolled down your face. The older man sighed, patting your head a bit.

"You're no different than anyone else involved in our creed. We have all lost something or someone. But that is exactly why we fight." Altaïr separated himself to look at you directly. "You must use those emotions to your advantage. Control, but with passion, yes?" You nodded, wiping away your tears. How like a small, lost child you must seem to Altaïr. He was so calm and understanding.

"Come now, we have to get going." He said while starting towards the temple. You followed silently. Already, a weight seemed to lift off your chest. You let out a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat. Suddenly, a question popped into your mind.

"Altaïr?"

"Yes?"

"Have you lost someone, too?" Altaïr stopped walking. You stood next to him, he was staring ahead, as were you. Before you stood perhaps the strangest thing you'd ever seen. It was like a building carved out of the cave walls. After viewing this, the thought of an entire city under the rock occurred to you. You could only see just the one wall which was decorated so strangely. An entrance to the temple stood at the bottom, surrounded by columns which held the next level. Three stone archways leading to nowhere but most curious was the center arch. The middle had a peculiar gold chest resting at the feet of the pillars, as if on display. Two carved guardians sat next to the chest. Everything was completely undisturbed.

Altaïr wasted no time in clambering down the sculpted walls near the entrance to the next room. You waited above, next to the cave exit. Unexpectedly, it sprang back into mind.

"I've seen this before." You called to Altaïr, voice echoing loudly. He looked up towards you.

"How?"

"In my books. This architecture, it's from a people who came much before us. They were quite fond of cutting stories into the walls with enormous amount of detail." You pointed to the far wall which was barely emerging from the stone, somewhat like a ghost.

"They also seemed to be fond of columns.." Altaïr murmured under his breath.

"In the Bible it says this temple was made under the command of King Solomon. Then, it was burned for over 400 years. They say Solomon's temple additionally holds the Ark of the Covenant..." You trailed off, the gold box on the second level now catching your eye. "Altaïr, look" And you pointed. Around the chest, a faint yellow glow was emitting. You remained frozen to the spot, a powerful feeling of fear taking over your mind. Your mentor was not so hesitant. He walked forward, approaching the light.

"Wait.. Stop.." You tried to yell, words only came out of your mouth as a strained whisper. You wanted to move towards him, to keep him from advancing, but you _couldn't_ move. Not one inch. Your body was forced to merely watch.

Much harsher, now, the light slithered from the box as a gigantic, glowing skeletal hand. It was huge and crackling as if on fire with radiant gold electricity. The hand extended it's boney grasp for Altaïr now, who had just as easily fallen prey to the entity's possession of his body. As soon as it touched him, a blast of yellow energy panned out like an explosion. Booming voices of male and females overlapped in the chamber. Suddenly, the feeling of dread dissipated inside you. You could move.

Before even thinking, you jumped down to the main floor, the bones inside your legs vibrated heavily as a result. For a second, it became hard to stand. Half crawling, half running, you neared Altaïr. He was floating, hanging weightless in mid-air. His back was towards you, it made it that much clearer to see the gold, electric wings growing from his shoulder blades and making contact with the ground. His 'wings' blazed hotter than any fire or any summer afternoon, they fizzed and crackled onto surrounding surfaces, and more than anything; absolutely terrifying.

"Altaïr..." You called, unsure if he was actually there. The man turned, descending slowly to you. His eyes were also alight like two candles. He met your gaze, staring into your soul. Somehow, in that moment, it occurred to you, this wasn't the mentor you had known for the past month and a half.

This was a God inhabiting a mortal's body.

The golden 'man' scowled at you, only seeing a nuisance in the way. He lunged, his fingers wrapping around your neck, palm crushing into your windpipe. There was no chance of screaming now. With the one arm, he lifted you up, you could vaguely feel your feet leaving the ground as oxygen was cut off from your brain. You tried grabbing his arm, attempting to dig your nails in so hard he would let go. But nothing happened, no matter how hard you squeezed, you couldn't leave a dent in his skin. Even hitting hard was just as futile.

"Foolish human." The golden man said. It was not Altaïr's voice. It was deep, echoing to your very core, inside your ribs and skull. You were gasping now, vision rapidly becoming blurry. With the last of your strength, you spoke,

"Altaïr... Please..." It was barely audible, but somehow proved to be enough. The man blinked, shook his head, then squinted. He suddenly seemed to be having an intense migraine. He let go, your body dropped to the ground with the weight of 5 men. You coughed, gasping, attempting to take deep breaths. No amount of oxygen seemed to be enough. You were drowning in a sea of air. Was this what Altaïr felt like after being hanged?

The golden man was crouching in a fetal position, both the heels of his palms pressed deeply into his forehead. It started out low, deep and guttural, but slowly grew into a deafening bloodcurdling scream coming from him. He was in pain. As was presumably Altaïr, still trapped inside. You attempted to get closer, crawling to his aid. He saw you, it was really him, the man you knew. But he was angry. A hand shot out.

"DON'T COME CLOSER." He spat. Your body was thrown back into the wall with the force of a speeding train. There was a large crack! as your head collided with the stone. Your brain sloshed inside your skull. You couldn't see anything, you couldn't speak or move, you could barely breath. But the only thing you could think was, _'That was Altaïr's voice.'_ You smiled weakly before completely blacking out.

* * *

Waking up was excruciatingly painful. Opening your eyes and trying to see clearly was nothing but dizzying. You had been slouched over for so long your back ached. Any chance of calling for help was gone, the vocal chords in your neck were raw. Worst of all was your head. Slowly, you reached up, touching the back, it was wet. Tinging the tips of your fingers was dark red blood. You grunted, pushing yourself to sit up straight. It took a few minutes, but eventually the room became clear and ceased it's rocking. Altaïr was slumped over on the ground, unconscious. His clothes were slightly burnt, you could smell them from across the room. Smelling was really the only sense that had survived after the matter.

Crawling slow and methodical, you made it to Altaïr's side before collapsing again. He seemed to be alright, no serious injuries, just knocked out. You sighed with relief, deciding maybe it was ok to rest a little bit before dragging him out of here. Staying close to your mentor, you closed your eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The second awakening was not as painful, but instead adrenaline filled. You woke up with a jolting start, looking around. The cave was dark, what time was it? Where is Altaïr? You felt around until you came across his arm. He was still unconscious, but alive, and breathing. You almost started to relax but another wave of fear washed over you. You had to get him out. Back to Masyaf.

Quickly hopping up, you found Altaïr again, and hooked your arms under his own. Pulling backwards towards the entrance going deeper into the temple. There had to be another way out. Looking around, as your eyes were adjusting, you could see a few shadowed figures, maybe. The temple was almost, if not, pitch black.

Suddenly a warm glow emanated from above. You turned, looking around wildly but being careful not to drop Altaïr. At the top of a winding path of stairs, snaking the edge of the room, stood a woman. Her alien clothes were luminous of the same tawny yellow from the hand. A type of crown seemed to be fitted on her head. Foreign, she was, but beautiful and nothing short of regal. Was this another God? She stood in silence, waiting for a response. You decided that she was showing you the way out, but the back of your mind was telling you to kill her at the first sign that betrayed her nature. How you were supposedly going to 'kill her' was beyond you. All that mattered was trying to help Altaïr, who still lay unconscious in your arms.

The Goddess' light was just enough to make out the individual steps leading to her. Altaïr was heavy, more heavy than you could have thought. Of course, compared to him, you were like an adolescent. However, you couldn't help but curse him and yourself as you painstakingly dragged him up, stair by stair.

The woman waited patiently, never blinking once as she watched you. More than once you were tempted to demand her for help, but you held your tongue. You could barely speak anyways. By the time you reached the top of the stairs she was gone, but what stood next to you was an exit leading into one long cave. You never saw the woman again.

Soon enough, you reached outside after what seemed like forever. You looked over the city from the exit on top a hill. It was night time Jerusalem was aglow with tiny flickering yellow lights. You took a deep breath. Although it was cold, the fresh air was so much better in contrast than the warm stuffy air inside Solomon's temple. Maybe Altaïr was happy with the air, too. Focusing back on the task at hand you surveyed the ground, looking for transportation. There, only 20 feet away, at the bottom of the hill were a pair of horses already loaded with supplies.

Turning back to Altaïr you noticed he was short of breath and sweating profusely. When did this start? What was going on? Questions raced through your head. You placed a hand on his cheek only to retract it immediately. Burning hot. And not in the acceptable range of hot but over that, inhuman. There was no time to go the long and safer way. Carefully, you slid down the hill holding the still sleeping Altaïr next to you. Then, with much struggled and strain, you pushed your mentor on the saddle of a chestnut horse, laying the top half of his body on the animal's neck. After some thought, you secured Altaïr down, tying his feet to the stirrups and the reigns around his body and hands. This would have to do. You climbed on your own grey horse, kicking it forward. The other chestnut followed, just as it would be trained to do.

There would be no time for formalities at the gate. Instead of worming your way out both you and your comatose mentor steamrolled through the dormant guards, making a beeline for the path to Masyaf. The phosphorescent emerald city of Jerusalem at your backs.

* * *

Al Mualim sat at his study desk, observing a parchment written in riddles. His white eyebrows knitted together, trying to make sense among this chaos. He had to find it, had to.

"Sir!" The old man looked up from his puzzles, happy to be distracted from them. "Sir, you must come quickly, word has just arrived of Altaïr and a novice assassin arriving in Masyaf. Altaïr seems to be sick or hurt." Al Mualim stood, quickly advancing alongside his student to the village below. There, staggering up towards the guild in the rising heat was you and Altaïr, one arm over your shoulder. The master pressed forward, signaling a few other assassin to come help. Two brothers took your mentor from you. You barely kept yourself from fainting of exhaustion. Sweat rolled down your face, dirt and dried mud were spattered across your skin and clothes. Breaths came out shaky and short.

Al Mualim went to you directly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You clung to it desperately, like a life-line, still panting. He helped you into the castle, silent, no questions yet, just like a good leader should.

"Get this man some water." He commanded to a nearby sister. She returned quickly holding a flask of cold water. You took it gratefully, downing it in one go, not caring about the drops that spilled out of your mouth and down your neck.

"Tell me, young one, what happened? What happened to Altaïr?"

"We were investigating Jerusalem, as you commanded, and we came across a temple, Solomon's temple." You explained. "We never could have known what was inside.."

"What? What was inside? Tell me! Tell me now!" Al Mualim said hastily, practically shaking you.

"I... I-I don't..." You stammered.

"Hush, child. Take a moment to think, but please, hurry." He said. You stared into his one working eye, searching for answers, when it came back.

"Al Mualim, what we found was not from this earth. It was as some of our ancient scrolls describe. I believe we found the Ark."

"We found the Ark of the Covenant."


End file.
